Page 20 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

She’d been starry-eyed herself, but she’d also been wrong. She’d imagined him taking her to his home – his real home, not the room he kept at Miro and Toni’s – introducing her to his parents and to the mountainous places that were part of him.

None of that had happened. Sophie had never even once set foot in South Tyrol. Andreas had picked her up from the airport and taken her hiking and climbing in the Veneto Dolomites. She hadn’t had time to be disappointed, because every view had been spectacular and every day gruelling, since Andreas didn’t do anything outdoors by halves. And at night, he’d wrapped his arms around her in the tiny tent he’d carried for them and she’d almost managed to forget she’d wanted an insight into the rest of his life and not just another spectacular adventure.

Now, she was only interested in the adventure – involving a summit cross where her clients could promise their lives to each other while Sophie resisted thinking about everything in her own life that had turned out differently from how she’d expected.

Holding her breath, trying not to wonder whether Andreas would smile for her, she sailed through the sliding doors and into the arrivals hall. Sophie’s eyes found him before he saw her. Although his baseball cap hid the grey highlights peppered through his hair, he still looked strikingly older than he had that autumn day nearly nine years ago. His face was weathered and freckled and she pictured him for a moment as an old man, growing to resemble his stony mountains – and just as quiet.

But neither the evidence that he’d recently turned forty nor Sophie’s strange mental image could reduce the inviting picture he made, staring off to one side lost in thought, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket –thatjacket.

When he glanced over and saw her, he did smile, but there was none of the brightness of the last time he’d collected her here. She knew she looked different too. She’d had her hair styled in a long, layered bob and her fitted dress was one of her favourites for work.

Her heels clicked on the tiles as she approached and he met her in the middle. She clutched the handle of her suitcase as her mind raced, wondering how they were supposed to greet each other. He hesitated with the barest glance at her outfit, before grasping her upper arm and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

‘Benvenuta in bella Italia, Sophie,’ he said, his voice textured and rough even when he welcomed her in Italian.

‘Grazie,’ she thanked him with an uncertain look. ‘Or should I say “Danke”?’ She still didn’t quite understand the dynamic between his two languages. He said German was his mother tongue, but she’d rarely heard him speak it and he seemed entirely comfortable with Italian.

He didn’t answer – perhaps he’d thought the question was rhetorical – and she followed him uneasily outside after he’d snatched the handle of her case. She paused, nonplussed, when he led her to the same old Panda, the khaki paintwork even more faded.

‘There might be a bit of mud on the seat.’

Hoping he wasn’t serious, she settled gingerly on the passenger side while he rummaged in the boot to make space for her suitcase amongst his usual collection of dirty boots and pristine ropes. She breathed a sigh of relief when the car started on the first try.

‘It still works,’ he rumbled carelessly. ‘Still got power steering.’ He shrugged out of his jacket before grasping the gear stick and shoving it into reverse, making Sophie jerk her gaze up when she caught herself watching the play of bone and ligament and muscle in his arm.

‘I suppose I’ve been doing weddings for too long,’ she said, keeping her gaze strictly forward. ‘Most couples want a Ferrari here. I have a list of hire companies.’

‘Vintage cabrio?’ he asked with a chuckle. ‘Or would that blow away the veil? Just make sure they don’t stop to take photos on the Stelvio Pass. They might never make it all the way up.’

‘I did have one couple who wanted to take photos up there, but it was in spring and when they discovered how much snow was left, they decided on Verona instead.’

‘I don’t suppose the same might happen with your current clients?’

‘There won’t be any snow around Lake Garda in September,’ Sophie said drily. She peered at him. ‘You’re still sceptical about their plan to get married on a mountain summit?’

‘Do you remember when we went hiking near Cortina?’ he asked instead of answering.

Sophie resisted rolling her eyes. ‘I’m not likely to forget.’ As much as she might want to.

‘We did the via ferrata Marino Bianchi.’

If she closed her eyes, she could still picture the dizzying drops, the grey limestone peaks that dominated the equipped climbing route. She could hear the clink of the safety equipment and feel the steel cable of the via ferrata – ‘iron way’ in Italian – under her hands.

Andreas continued, ‘I still remember the look on your face when you reached the top of the Cima di Mezzo.’

Sophie hoped he was concentrating on the road, because the multi-lane highway and the toll gates all disappeared from her vision. She was lost in memories of how it had felt to stand on that crag and know she’d hauled herself up, fought gravity literally with all her muscles, with her fingernails and her determination. She’d floated on the crisp air and the sunlight, as though she’d just discovered a new dimension to life and to herself.

‘Can you imagine reaching the top and thenmarryingsomeone?’ Andreas snapped, sending Sophie’s thoughts crashing back down.

Actually… she could imagine it. And somehow, the only groom she could imagine in that picture was Andreas.

‘The bride isn’t planning to do a via ferrata in a wedding dress. You won’t have to lug the champagne to the top in a cool bag or produce a violin quartet out of your pocket!’

‘No, because I’ll be long gone by the time they actually get married!’ he said, his voice irritatingly light. ‘I can just about bring myself to help you find them a place.’

Sophie gritted her teeth. ‘I know you’ll never get married and don’t appreciate the idea of combining a wedding and challenging sports, but surely you can appreciate the parallels. It’s all about the big feelings; getting married is a moment of adrenaline too, a destination and the continuation of that journey along the same path. There’s symbolism that you should grasp at least intellectually, if you’re incapable of appreciating it emotionally.’

He was silent for a moment, his hand gripping the worn vinyl of the steering wheel tightly. ‘I can see why you’re a good marriage celebrant,’ he said eventually. ‘If the couples need one last pep talk, you’re there to convince them to take the plunge.’

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